


the tomboy’s lollipop

by softestlarrie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bottom Harry, Daddy Kink, Dark, Depression, Harry Styles - Freeform, Louis Tomlinson - Freeform, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Psychosis, Sadism, Top Louis, anger issues, harry - Freeform, larry - Freeform, larry stylinson - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 10:48:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13588488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softestlarrie/pseuds/softestlarrie
Summary: the one where harry styles is kind of everything that's terribly wrong for mr. louis tomlinson, but somehow they end up intertwined in a web of dead parents and almost sad innocence. harry's basically orphaned into the arms of louis, and they kind of end up killing each other. ♡♡





	1. { thereof, random }

—KNOW THAT YOU DON’T NEED TO BE IN LOVE TO MAKE LOVE TO ME.


	2. { thereof, in }

**—HARRY'S CHEEKS CONSIST OF A SPLASH OF CALM FALLS AND BRIGHT SPRINGS PLACED WITHIN THE ROSES PRODUCED SO DELICATELY IN THE BLUSH OF THE PLUSH SKIN.**

 

 

grace bestowed

 

the young thing kicks his legs back and forth, yellow dress kicked into soft tornadoes around his legs as the wind helps rustle the material about. harry wishes it was always summer in his body, like the lie the dress so beautifully conveys.

although there's shaking tsunamis in his hands placed atop his knees, and his legs are bouncing with strong gusts of wind forced on him by blizzards, and god it's all so icy, he just wants to be warm.

but despite the confusion of summer in his dress and fall in his eyes, of blizzards in his knees and tsunamis in his hands, he hums the tune of terrance loves you. it's a pretty song he knows his mother would not be even close to proud of him for knowing, let alone singing.

she'd never liked lana, anyhow. she'd much rather him sing jesus loves me.

but, the boy continues humming nonetheless as he loops his hand through the hair tie, already a tad bit annoyed —and red in the face too— because try as harry might, his ringlets tend to find themselves in his eyes„ of the storm„ beautiful, beautiful storm.

but he tries not to dwell on it because mary often tells him if he dwells on something, his feelings will only get worse, and harry's sure nobody wants that.

so he ties the bundle of hair into a lopsided bun.

and look at that, problem solved. harry likes solvable things, because they make his body slouch with relief. mum likes these things the most too.

with the jingle of too many keys, his head turns, the boy's neck almost snapping like harry on a too bad day, and he can practically feel the man leaking into the atmosphere.

it's like he's almost too aware of his presence without the man even signalling his entrance properly.

the boy intakes a breath deeply, counting softly as he tells himself everything will be alright, prays that he can keep his composure, eyes downcast in these acts as the woman comes behind him, urging harry to his feet (which are clad in almost embarrassingly dirty converse, which happen to be his favourite, has even got left and right taped to the proper shoe).

it's the ghost of her hand along his spine that reminds him of his manners, and to his dismay, he tries and fails, only delivering a soft sorry with blushed cheeks and pure embarrassment radiating from him.

she notes this quickly, which thoughts of, he's not ready, which— that's alright. thinks of how to calm any triggers before harry notices.

harry doesn't exactly like that he has to be taken care of like this, but he is so grateful for the woman and the way she's adapted to his needs.

although he isn't always the most desirable person to work with, shown in the way his hands clench beside him as he makes for standing quickly, clearing his throat, cheeks an angry red as he almost trips forward, long limbs tangling.

and god, please forgive me father, for i have not meant to use your lovely name in vain, it's like, regardless of how many times he's tried to right himself, the entirety of his clumsy existence, tried to make anything but a proper fool of himself—

rule: stand tall, walk proud, be strong.

—he's always tripping over his own two feet, and how is he supposed to radiate any of the dominance his mother has taught him, if he's constantly tripping?

the boy bites his lip harshly, hands clenching once more beside him, as his eyes glaze over, the inside of his cheek –and practically everything harry can get his teeth on, his lip, his cheek, his tongue– chewed into a nasty state of jagged edges. he thinks about how much he hates his mouth as mary hums a soft, "it's alright, harry. ssh, c'mon, he's waiting."

louis watches the entire thing, rolling his eyes at the dramatic thing before him, getting so flushed at his own clumsiness, watches as the small thing takes a step closer, whispering, "is this him?"

and louis thinks no shit, but he somehow manages to control himself from saying anything too rude in front of the smiling woman. and maybe she's smiling too hard, and, "hm?"

there's a large hand around his arm as he gets tugged into the direction of a huge man, and he why is it so hard to understand that maybe you should ask if someone is okay with being touched before you just manhandle them?

point is; louis does not like being touched without his fucking permission, but louis breathes deeply, smiling at the man, "yes, what do you want?"

"i've got to warn you," louis cocks an eyebrow at the brute man, tempted to roll his eyes, "it's policy."

and then the two are huddled in a tiny little bubble which louis doesn't think is as impenetrable as the man makes it out to be. but he huffs, supporting a hand on his hip, and bloody fuck, will this man just spit it out already?

"um," he nibbles at his lip as he stumbles across his words and louis' unsure how this man hasn't lost his job yet. maybe the muscles come in handy.

"harry is a bit needy, more so than most teenagers," he bites his lip once more, "and you have to be aware that sometimes, when he's in an episode, harry might say things he doesn't mean, or might need more than you're willing to give, might want you in ways— what i'm saying is, you need to tend to his needs, because he's incredibly disabled in.. caring for himself."

"what are you not telling me?"

"harry is.. he's mentally ill, sir."

"what do you mean mentally ill?" louis practically spits, pulling the man close, "why was i not aware of this. i do not know how to care for a mentally ill child, let alone a teenager and—"

"excuse me, sir." harry mumbles, hands clenched beside himself, "i've got fucking ears, so maybe."

the woman goes for stopping him dead in his tracks before he gets too heated, but harry thinks he can go a little longer with controlling himself, "i can care for myself. i'm not going to be drooling over your dick as you brush my hair for me. i'm fine. i'm okay."

"of course you are, honey. he knows that." she kisses his forehead –louis thinks if she's got so much control over harry, why do they need him in the first place– as she distracts him with promises of seeing him soon, smiling once his irritation is less present.

"so, harry." the woman grins after a bit and louis' seething because this fucking oaf hasn't said another word, just fumbles with his fingers, the useless fuck.

she runs her hands along the length of his shoulders, squeezing his arms here and there,, and will louis have to do this?

she does it with a fondness that louis finds himself rolling his eyes at once again, he gets a feeling that he'll be recreating the action plenty of times near harry, call him psychic, but there's an inkling there."this is mr. tomlinson."

louis stares, mouth fallen agape as harry practically transforms before him, into a little angle with a soft coat of light innocence running along his apple blush cheeks, and harry just can't seem to keep the smile off his face, dimples protruding the freckled skin there, "oh, hello, mr. tomlinson! i'm, well, i'm just harry, no mr. –just harry."

louis breathes deeply, teeth clenched, "uh," and for once he's at loss for words, because what the fuck did his mother get him into? he looks toward the woman for guidance, she seems to have the most knowledge of harry, "is this all, or is there anything else i've got to do?"

"just remember to get harry's schedule from his bag, it tells the time he's supposed to take his meds and the dosage, and everything should be just alright."

harry frowns despite himself because he's been taught all along that ignoring people is very rude, and surely louis must know that completely disregarding harry's introduction and flitting his questions –that harry can most certainly answer, to mary is rude.

though, he feels like the man should already know this because it's common sense and is almost sure that mr. tomlinson most certainly would not like to hear harry's mother's words in a lecture, so harry counts to four, 1 2 3 4, biting his tongue once more with a smile directed at the blue eyed man.

harry crosses his feet before him, turning his bright lipped smile to the shorter woman, as he steps closer to her, and by now louis' in the range rover, huffing and puffing over this and that, mostly because he has not got time for harry's nonsensical shenanigans, but harry doesn't really care what louis has time for.

so louis just leans his head against the seat.

"thank you so much, mary." is what he starts with, in a soft whisper, forehead flush against hers, "for literally everything."

and sure, it's their usual goodbye, because harry just loves her so much, because it's the woman, who's been here for the low, been here for harriet and harry and the voices, who's house was always his go to place, has slept there more times than he can count, with the excuse of dirty foster parents with too many worries of "the devil is inside that boy".

she's always there to open the door with open arms and warm stories to rock a crying harry to sleep.

"i love you and i'm going to miss you so very much and i promise that i'm going to try and be my best for you, okay?" he breathes, taking his lip into his mouth, like this next promise is hard for him to even think about, can visibly see his struggle.

"i'll remember all the rules and take my medicine and remember everything you told me, alright?"

she hushes him, taking the curly haired boy into her arms, and then she's smiling again, louis reckons she must be nicknamed ' the smiling woman '.

"ssh, harry, i already know you will." she kisses his forehead once more, grinning, "because you believe in yourself."

louis keeps thinking cheesy, cheesy, cheesy, as he peeks from behind the steering wheel, but he can see the boy relax with each word she says. and to have such control over someone..

"believe you're a good boy, and heaven already knows, it's you who needs to. so that's something you have to remember to do, okay, love? can you do that for me?"

flashes of how rude he was to the woman when he first met her flashes before his eyes, the way he threw her precious belongings and pictures against walls and even then she still held him tighter than he own mum had.

she was so lovely that first day and she hadn't even know his name.

he nods with the bounce of curls, "i'll visit you in two weeks to check on everything, might even bring julia 'round if it's alright with mr. tomlinson." fond, is to have someone look at you this way, love.

"so you two can hang out, cause i know she's missing you already. and you can always come home, because you're my baby boy, you're family. we're always here, harry."

he hugs her quickly, "i love you so much, mum."

it's a tiny slip that mary tenses at, but harry doesn't seem to notice, and if he does, he tries his hardest not to think of it. don't dwell. "and we'll facetime tonight, yes?"

"of course, sweetheart, i love you too." she kisses his cheeks, crinkles by her eyes as she pulls him in for a tight hug once more, before she's giggling to harry, "now go on, my love, i'm not sure mr. tomlinson has any sort of patience."

harry giggles too as he shies into himself, kissing the oldish woman on her cheek, leaning down to grab his portmanteau, vanity case, and another bag with an abundance of his favourite sweets held inside, before putting them in the back seat, and climbing into the front, next to a sighing louis.

"are you even old enough to sit in the front?"

"i'm old enough, sir."

"you surely don't look or act it, like, in anyway." he grumbles, as he starts the car.

harry ignores his comment, hands folding cutely into his lap, as he hums appreciation, "i just, i really want to say thank you, mr. tomlinson. i know it's not your job to care for me, mr. but i hope you and i can–"

harry blinks, abashed by the man's behaviour and rudeness, because fuck, is he trying to set harry off? the boy tugs at his bun, the hair falling and he pulls a little too harshly.

he's trying though. for mary. for himself. for jay. and instead of yelling and screaming, jerking the wheel until they're both submerged under the damage that is harry's mind, he continues to tug, eyes closed, because if he looks at louis' lazy smile, harry might just break his nose.

"harry, blah blah," 1 2 3 4, yourself, mary, julia, jay.

"please, your talking is hurting my head, i've done it, i don't need a thank you." fuck you, "it's not like i had a choice in the manner." neither did i.

"you are a very rude man," harry huffs. "and if it weren't for the people i loved, i'd surely show you a piece of my mind, but mary says to keep them close, so i choose not to do this." i believe this. i can control myself.

"are you done, harold?"

louis sighs, twisting the volume knob, so the song is set to a low hum, as he searches for his lighter, finding it in department placed in the middle of the car.

!!!

 

interludes: it's not much  
of a tail, but i'm sort of attached to it.  
W I N N I E T H E P O O H

 

!!!

 

it's quick flashes, as he looks at the man, taking the cigarette from the man, smirk on his lips, "how much for one night, baby girl?"

"i charge two hundred an hour, darling."

"harry, why the fuck, give me back my goddamned cigarette," it's distinct, newly learned, somewhat high pitched, with low, tumbling rasps along with it.

"oh, then we're gonna have a helluva lot of fun," the man grabs the boy by his waist, as harry giggles into his mouth, breathing deeply, tells himself he loves this rush. "how much for bareback?"

"i'm some random whore," harry giggles, "not gonna happen love."

"harry, i swear to fucking god if you don't give me back my cigarette, i'm going to shove you to the side of the road and make you walk all those miles home, so i advise you hand me my shit back."

"what if i just used you for free, darling?"

it's now, that the panic begins to settle in, can smell the cigarette burning, can smell it everywhere, and god who put a cigarette in his hand?

"i don't do freebies," harry murmurs, "harry is not a whore who does not get payed. this is money. no freebies, surely not for you, honey."

he's screaming absolute terror, when the man shoves his cock in harry's arse, like each touch is fire, cigarette burning into the skin of his back as he murmurs about how fucking tight harry is, good little whore, and why is the cigarette smoke only going stronger? it's burning his lungs. it's too much.

what're you doing, harry? he blinks, this isn't real. none of this has ever been real. it's real. it's too real. harry can't think of this. rule: pain helps. pain is real. pain is always real.

it takes the boy a few seconds of clearly focus on the cigarette in his hand, eyes glazed over as he stabs the bud into his arm, and, "what the absolute fuck, harry?"

harry screeches, head against the glove department and he recites: "paper. trigger. cigarettes. harry. not okay. trigger. trigger. harry doesn't like cigarettes. memories. delusions. hallucinations. pain means real. memories have pain. trigger."

louis stares, completely abashed at the boy, doesn't know what to do, has never been put in a situation where he doesn't know what to do and fuck, louis cannot start freaking out, not in front of harry.

"what's going on, harry?"

he can see an internal struggle, as harry holds his tummy in the palm of his hand, a furious look on his face, as he questions, "how could you do that to yourself? that's disgusting!"

"mother always told me that you shouldn't smoke, because it ruins what god gave to you and mother knew everything so i really think you should listen to her, she was a very smart woman."

harry huffs, crossing his arms over his chest, standing profusely by his small lecture. he knew his mother was always right, regardless of his stubbornness to acknowledge the fact at the moment.

"harry," louis reaches for the boy's arm, almost revealing in the way the boy's face scrunches, cheeks blushed in pain and embarrassment?

"don't you ever do something as stupid as that again, do you hear me? because you know what my mother believed in? a good spanking to the ass, and harry, i swear to god if you ever so much as think of hurting yourself, i will take you over my lap until your entire body burns with the ache of my fucking palm."

he watches different emotions flit through harry's face, anger, in which his teeth are bared, and he's biting back about how louis just met him, and:

"you will not fucking touch me because i'll have your small ass body shoved into the nearest dumpster and i swear to god i'll take your stuff and move to jamaica if you ever so much as threaten me again."

and something else, that's got him flushing red, lips rawly bitten, hips moving upwards, and fucking hell of harry does some weird shit in louis' car, he's going to be absolutely pissed.

louis grumbles under his breath, doesn't question harry and his weirdness, thinks he'll call his mum and then mary to consult on what's going on with harry over a nice cuppa, but for now, he'll just ignore the boy altogether.

it's only four minutes before harry's talking again, "this song is absolute shit, can you please—"

louis runs a hand down the length of his face, side eyeing harry, "will you be this annoying this entire time, because i may need to muzzle you. would you like to be muzzled, little harry?"

"of fucking course not."

"then dear god, shut the fuck up."

louis hides his pack of cigarettes in his pocket before taking the lighter and placing it back, burning holes into harry's arm, where his newly burned scar rests, and fuck, he's seriously rethinking ever being nice to his mum.

 

 

// ANNOUNCEMENT //

⚠️ this is the revised, republished version of lollipop. the old version was simply too fluffy for me, so i decided to add in some aspects that are a bit darker. i hope you enjoy it all the same.

also. i do understand that it is a bit confusing.


	3. { thereof, deux }

  
**—THE SUN FLUTTERS THROUGH THE WINDOW, TINY FAERIES DANCE WITH THE BAT OF EACH EYELASH. HARRY BREATHES. HARRY GOES.**

 

 

fucking fakes

 

  
louis does try for ignoring the boy; the soft hum of his presence presenting a certain buzz to the air & its this low lull of his voice bad harry, dumb fuck, the little tick to his body each time harry notices louis' involuntary glances, the bounce of his knee.

  
but louis can't help but look at the boy.

  
so louis looks at the tiny scars running along his arms, and the shivers eliciting goosebumps along the length of them. it's all so harry, the peach fuzz glimmering a bright blonde in the sunlight, ruffled by the soft wind, yawns following each kittenish movement, the flicker of his eyes from light to dark as the poor things words become harsher, like he needs to hurt himself.

  
and– "if you're just gonna cry, why do it?" tick.

  
he looks over to louis, like he's the predator and he's waiting to pounce on the man, or maybe like louis is the predator, and harry's some poor prey, and maybe louis shouldn't have asked.

  
haz breathes deeply, batting his eyelashes as he blinks away his tears —he doesn't answer, either. the boy just presses his face against the tinted window as if to say darling, i just don't have time for your ignorance.

  
but, with the way his face is pressed against the cool surface of the glass, it's like harry's trying to get away.

  
like maybe if he looks hard enough at the surrounding trees, watches the birds fly prettily about, if he listens to the water rippling about the pond & if he feels hard enough that he's not trapped inside this car with the unpleasant man, then he won't be here anymore.

  
so, louis doesn't say anything. and neither does harry.

  
it's a long while, with what the way louis' so intent on murmuring the lyrics to the god awful songs he plays, —which, of course, why wouldn't louis have bad taste in music? the boy almost groans himself to insanity— before they reach the large black gate.

  
the large thing surprisingly isn't adorned with pillars & gargoyles with faces set to scowls, which would in fact suit the man's persona perfectly, but. he guesses he has to seem somewhat welcoming to foster a kid.

  
the too big metal thing opens with the push a button, the loud squeak echoing about his ears until they are a nice shade of bloody red, devils tiptoeing a dance of shivers along the boy's spine.

  
tiredness sets in on louis as he drives the range rover past the entrance, into the atmosphere of his little —ha, palace. the man pushes his feathery fringe across his forehead, which he's been doing this entire time, nonstop, like he can't help himself from moving his hands, and maybe it's a bit like harry's window thing, as he breaths deeply through his nose.

  
he glances once more at the young fellow, eyes wide set, and this time, harry stares back. there is a little twinkle in his eyes —in this, louis somehow deems it ok to leave him be, and so he's jumping from the car, hair flopping with his descent to the concrete.

  
he just stares as the tomlinson man walks away, deep intakes of breath flowing about his body and he's just taking all of this in, each detail carefully.

  
h takes in the way goosebumps rise in his skin, how his ears starts burning and how his nose itches with just a glance— good and bad; a lot like louis.

  
the hot air mats his curls against his forehead for they are in no way obedient, tumbling down in little bitchy fights, and, he's just an awfully grumpy boy. he doesn't know why the, jay's louis tomlinson would leave him to himself, when harry knows very well just how lovely a woman jay is, knows that she'd welcome him into her home with open arms.

  
so where exactly did louis learn this bad behaviour from?

  
the boy jumps from the black car, the bottom of haz's feet stinging with the slight jump, so much so harry's nose scrunches as he curses and crosses his arms once more over his chest, skin pale against his terribly so so yellow dress, and he stars to kick his dirty converse at the pavement.

 

the low rumble of susan rings about the space & harry turns, perking up, as if his own name has been called. like he knows she's for him.

  
but there's some distant hope that perhaps louis isn't all too different from anne, his voice isn't too far off & so maybe he'll show harry to his room, wear a mask of decency, but.

  
"show harold to the door, i'm not sure the poor boy could find it himself, isn't all to smart." okay. maybe not.

  
it's a snarl and the stomp of his foot louis gets in this distant response & harry's red cherry stained bottom lip juts forward in disappointment, because what the absolute fuck?

  
all this commentary is completely unnecessary, regardless of if he can find the door without the guidance of a pretty woman. louis should show him himself.

  
"go fuck yourself, lewis."

  
"will do."

  
he watches as the woman strides over to him, a pretty and soft smile on her foreign lips. it's nice. genuine. & "the door is over here, sweetheart."

  
so harry manages a wobbly smile for her.

  
!!!

i n t e r l u d e: it is hard to be brave,  
when you are only a very small animal.  
W I N N I E T H E P O O H

!!!

  
as harry bends down, he swears he can hear the light whispers of someone behind him, making themselves known with soft taps on his skin, eliciting the tiniest of bumps.

  
so he stands in one quick, jittery movement, fingers clawing the hair that's fallen from his dwindling bun off his face.

  
though, his movements are too quick for a stumbling boy and he's sent flying forward & he's grumbling out sorry's to some dead woman, and he's cursing because what a bad son he's become.

  
harry could at least respect her rule of not having his panties on display for everyone to see. "if you're gonna dress like a girl," the woman said, "then you have got to be just as modest as one."

  
once his dirtied shoes (his favourite black converse, it is the ones he taped right and left to when he was still learning the difference between the two, when mama was around to help him remember things as small and simple as this) are off, he looks up.

  
with pupils blown in awe, he breathes deeply.

  
and then he fumes. because why the fuck would anyone assume it a good idea to put him in a place with louis' richness and his stupid fucking timeless statues strewn carelessly around, and he could run into a pillar, even break his way through a painting and why? why would they trust him not to?

  
louis's even got these stupid fucking angels fluttering around in all their naked glory, and they're all just so happy. he thinks that maybe he knows what they are doing now.

  
they're trying to put these angels in his disastrous and broken vicinity so he doesn't flip his shit.

  
there's an angel and a psycho fighting on his shoulders and he's wondering who's side to take.

  
he should be grateful.

  
with a small smile —dimpled nonetheless— its at the normality of their constant bickering, harry grabs his too many bags, and up the stairs he goes, converse all too deep rooted in louis' freshly cleaned carpet.

 

and as haz ascends up the stairs, his mind falters once more to mr. tomlinson, and how much of an idiot the man is for leaving harry alone is this house, without a tad bit of knowledge on where his room is. there's far too many.

 

so harry picks the first one he finds, with a whitish — it's beige, vanity and a large bed, velvet curtains hung around it, and harry figures there must be angles and vanities in each room, but this one just might be the plainest.

  
but he likes it, something makes it feel homey. it feels a little dead, if he's honest.

  
so harry sets his belongings beside the bed and pulls his clothes out & sifting through them to decide the small & ridiculous task of figuring out which to hang and which to fold.

  
it's now that lewis decides to wander in.

  
"harold," he breathes deep breaths and his hands drag down the length of his face, arms crossed. "what are you in my room?"

  
"it's not like you told me where to fucking go," harry keeps his voice steady, although his eyes are wide and for once he's praying that the angels will help him & really why else would they be around? surely to make sure louis doesn't see the quickness of each disastrous movements.

  
louis frowns, the boy's sitting on something.

  
"i imagined you'd be smart enough to pick just one of the rooms that wasn't mine, but no. you find mine of course, because that makes so much sense."

  
he huffs as he walks a little closer to the boy, trying to see what harry's hiding, and it's the most interest he's showed in the boy since he's laid eyes on him. "so why are you in here?"

  
"i just picked the first one i saw, i didn't put too much though into it."

  
louis watches his hands which are scrunch tightly — a little too tightly, around something.

  
"why do you think it's furnished, harold? because it's my room, you think?"

  
"sure. that'd make sense if all of these rooms weren't furnished too, dumbass."

  
"what is the darling little harry hiding? i assumed he was an open book, but no no." louis smirks & it's so awful because of course the man would only find joy in cornering the boy.

  
harry's check blotch scarlet along his puffed cheeks as if spring has come and flowers have been ordered to bloom.

  
"it's a gun."

  
harry's never been too fond of the machines but he's a little on the crazy side and he'd rather protect the tiny sense of righteousness on his mother's behalf and he'll bite louis before the man gets his eyes or hands on the unmentionables.

  
"aw, sweetheart, lyings no good for boys, specially not those your age." theres a glimmer in his eyes as he tsks and yet again he's in the predator position ; stalking.

  
"haven't you ever been taught that?"

  
"yes lewis, i have. but mother's also taught me how to use a knife so i can stab anyone who catches a glance at these, okay? she'd be quite disappointed in the both of us if she ever found out."

  
louis looks disturbed. harry doesn't even think it has anything to do with the knife part either.

  
the playful light in the man's ocean big blues flicks off, mr. tomlinson quickly gathering himself. "grab all your crap, harold. i'll show you your room, remember it."

  
louis turns and it's like he's going to walk away, but he doesn't. he just waits for harry to scamper behind him with his back turned to the door. and harry quickly & efficiently —efficiency is key— throws all crap into his portmanteau.

  
louis rolls his eyes and almost snatched the bag from harry, cursing when harry pulls back. "let me carry it. it'll be quicker. the less time we'll spend together."

  
harry let's go.

  
so harry spends his time counting each door from the man's to his, nodding his head when they finally reach his room. there''s twenty eight and harry thinks that's some ridiculous amount and what the fuck makes him so rich? what does louis do?

  
he's also sure there's no way he'll remember how to get to the entrance door to his room, but.

  
"thanks." harry says but louis' already leaving and he doesn't care enough to chase after him, so he closes the door and he breathes.

  
harry spends the night in his room cause he's not all too keen on the idea of leaving the new safe & lovely space he's been offered. he spends the time speaking to julia and mary.

  
harry's been fake for long enough to offer some sunlit smile to the woman with offers of a bacon sandwich, fries, and a drink. harry thanks her & she informs him that a man, who goes by the name of zayn, will go and help him find room decor tomorrow.

  
and then the next day he'll go with him for clothes, it is because the rich mr. tomlinson says the amount he has now is nowhere near enough.

  
then harry eats a lollipop.

  
and he falls asleep feeling too small and too vulnerable in the large space of his room, and it's too dark, but.

  
the angels are here for a reason.

  
he'll be fine.

 

 


End file.
